Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie
by Phenomonous
Summary: *FLASH* Stabsteins on the loose...*FLASH* Harry finds the magical world of Typos (a country), complete with elite wicker baskets! *FLASH* The Order of the Mookie: Whose side are *you* on?
1. Stabstein

A/N: This is a co-authorship between myself and Lily Luna (a great author, in my opinion)...danke to Jume for beta-ing (yes, I know you're not a fish, and no, I will never delete Five Men in a Boat). A lot of this has to do with www.magichogwarts.com, which is a great site indeed.   
  
Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie  
  
Harry Potter had once again been pulled from a dream by his obese cousin Dudley, whose snores were louder than both Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's combined. "Perhaps it's a good thing," Harry mentally pondered, "that they're my only remaining living relatives."  
  
Harry sighed, reaching for his glasses and putting them on. Thinking back on his dream, the young boy was glad to note that the the reliving of the latest tracgic even of his life was not present when he had visited Morpheus's Realm. It had not consisted of high, shrub walls--but no, he did not even like thinking about that. Instead of those morbid thoughts, his dream had consisted of minute mud pies, which is an absurd thought in itself, but add to it--of all things!--a wide variety of pink ribbons.  
  
Very odd indeed.  
  
"But such things are ridiculous!" he ranted not so silently to the predawn light. "Mud cakes...honestly. They're not even cakes! More like cookies...yes, that's what they are....mud cookies." Jumping onto his rumpled bed, and reclining backwards onto crossed arms, he murmured, "Absolutely ludicrous..."  
  
"Ludicrous, eh?" inquired a nasty, greasy voice to his right. "Mookies, ludicrous?"  
  
Harry, previously frozen in shock due to the unexpected visit from this odd figure, clumisliy fumbled for his wand. Too late, he remembered that he had placed it with his homework the night before, meaning that it was now gathering dust under the floor boards. The boy stalled for time, "Wh-who are you? And what do you mean, 'mookies'?"  
  
The maniac little man laughed, and his bright eyes glinted in amusement, "Oh, you mean you don't know about Mookies?"  
  
"Well, I--" But before the young Potter could answer the stranger's question, a most-likely purple-faced Uncle Vernon rang through the house--his voice, that is.  
  
"BOY!" sang the violet topped seething mass of narrow-mindedness. "Who. Are. You. Talking to?!" the Dursley demanded, barging into the room full of broken toys.  
  
Harry frantically looked around, hoping that the obese bolb that had invaded his space would not notice his other visitor; but apparently, the crouched down man had disappeared. Quickly recovering, Harry surveyed his uncle with believable (though fake) bewilderment. "Why, what do you mean? There's no one in here save me..."  
  
Flustered, the beefy man's glance shifted from side to side. "Are you sure," Harry continued, "that some of my--ah--abnormalness hasn't rubbed off on you?"  
  
Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, and a bit of spit leaked from his open mouth. He promptly turned around, and walked out of the room. Harry smirked a bit--these particular muggles could be entirely too humorous at times.  
  
Moment of triumplh gone, however, Harry began to search for traces of the strabge man. After scouring hi quarters a number of times, the boy wizard came upon what looked like a business card. Upon it read:  
  
'A Proud  
  
MR. STABSTEIN  
  
One of the Elite  
  
ANTIMOOKIEPEEPS  
  
in the extreme'  
  
Oh, this was becoming increasingly odd.  
  
There was that word 'mookie' again, though he still had no idea what it meant. The Hogwarts-attendee flipped the card over, hoping to find more inofrmation; he was not disappointed.  
  
In an untidy, small scrawl was written:  
  
PoTTer,  
  
In the Mookie Struggle, we Stabsteins are your friend.  
  
Remember that. 


	2. Investigation and Chase

Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie  
  
Well, there was only one explanation:  
  
It was all a joke.  
  
What else could it be? Mookies and mud pies--or cookies--and pink ribbons...it must be a joke. Perhaps Ron and Hermione had realized how distance he was becoming, how isolated he felt from the wizarding world, and had hired thies person to help him feel a bit more involved.  
  
If they cared, this was certainly an odd way of showing it.  
  
Deeply rooted in his thoughts, it took Dudley several loud, obnoxious knocks (as if they weren't anyway) to bring Harry out of his poustulating stupor. Irritated at having his thought being interrupted, Harry promptly opened the door and wiggled his fingers in an absurd way at the cousin opposite him.  
  
Dudley, of course, ran away, fighting back a scream, and waving his Smelting stick wildly in front of him.  
  
Harry chuckled to himself, and closed the door. Whatever Dudley had wanted him to do (probably came to ask him embarassedly to help him with his 4th grade level math), he wouldn't come back asking now.  
  
The young Potter returned to the card, examining it even more. He turned it over several times, and after a few of such revolutions he could see something that could either be identified as chocolate, blood, or mud...  
  
Since the boy wizard had long since known the difference between blood and chocolate (Dudley had tormented him unceasingly in the earlier years of his life, and he had downed so much chocolate during his endless ailments at Hogwarts that chocolate stains adorned more than half of his school robes), he could only assume it was mud. And that once again aroused the memory of the dream...  
  
He remained in his cramped quarters for the majority of the day, reexamining the card and the places where Stabstein had sat and crouched...several pieces of slime were found.  
  
And if this was who he was allied with in the upcoming struggle, he wanted to surrender now.  
  
The ripped and torn comforter, leaking its insides, was smeared with grease that was probably thicker than Snape's hair in all its slimeball glory, and on the window (the plain, snow white window) there was a large, dark, mark which looked to be some sort of putrid jelly.  
  
His application form must have been mixed up with the other sides'.  
  
But he continued in his explorations, hoping to find an answer...but, as often happens, only more questions were asked.  
  
Soon it was dark (or what seemed to be soon...perhaps some of those grease fumes had knocked him out for hours) and this Potter, in this house where he was unwanted, decided that it was time for him to head off to bed.   
  
After making the journey to the linen closet (something, under normal circumstances, he would not have been allowed to do...), Harry opened his bedroom door to see something which absolutely terrified him.  
  
Reclining on his bed was Lord Voldemort.  
  
  
He was running...  
  
Harry was running across the perfect lawns of Privet drive, trampling flower gardens and vegetable gardens alike. His breathing was hard, his feet moving fast, and his head staying glued to what was ahead of him.  
  
Because if he were to look back, then he was sure to see something that he did not want to see.  
  
But even if he did not see the monster that was behind him, he could definitely hear him. His ears were the only warning signals he had where his survival was concerned...An illimitable number of curses and spells had attempted to remove his feet from his legs a number of times, as well as attempt to stop him in his tracks, and to kill him in general.  
  
And of course, you're wondering, "Why doesn't Harry fight back?" The answer is simple...you may remember that when the infamous Stabstein visited Harry Potter, the wand of the Boy who Lived was under the floorboards...and what makes you think that Harry would be intuitive enough to grab his wand and keep it near him after such an experience?  
  
After all, he's only 14.  
  
He leaped aside as a green curse demolished a small flower patch to the left of him...'Avada Kedavra,' he grimaced inwardly, 'again.'  
  
Turning right, Harry found himself in some sort of Apartment complex, complete with many snickets and such.  
  
So Potter made way for one such snicket, a particularly dark one, and hoped against hope that Voldemort was a long way behind him.  
  
It just so happens that the Dark Lord was having a hard time keeping up with his speedy nemisis...apparently, plotting evil conspiracies in hopes of taking over the world did not keep your body in shape...However, luckily for You Know Who, not all of the impedimenting curses missed and failed miserably...a few slowed his enemy down.  
  
And the beauty of such curses was that the victim didn't realize its slowed-state.  
  
Harry grew tired...although he had not been running for a long time, his running had been the most strenuous exercise he had done in awhile...daring a glance backwards, he was relieved to note that Voldemort was nowhere in sight...  
  
Which didn't, by any means, mean he wasn't nearby.  
  
Before actually stopping, Harry crouched behind a few trash barrels, hiding, he thought, 'like a coward.'  
  
Voldemort rounded the corner, and the boy-wizard's breath caught in his breath.  
  
The high-pitched voice of He Who Must Not Be Named uttered a few words to his wand, though Harry could see no visible result...except, perhaps, for the increased awareness in the evil thing's eyes. It seemed as if Voldemort had gone nocturnal (if he hadn't already), that he could see in the dark.  
  
Potter was in trouble now.  
  
If he hadn't been already, that is.  
  
^^  
Disclaimer: Um, no, I'm not making any money off of this. If I were, I'd have a much nicer computer...  
  
--Phenomonous 


	3. Of Flies and Wings

Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie  
  
Harry's insides seized up, his breathing ceased. Voldemort would most definitely find him now...and when he did--  
  
Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. There's no point in counting your chicken before they're hatched...especially when you're counting how many have died.  
  
Forcing himself to reinstitute respiratory patterns (and desperately attempting to silence his efforts) Harry awaited what was most likely the inevitable..waiting for Voldemort to find him.  
  
Harry, in order to get his mind off of the events probably due to pass soon, looked around his current space. Off in the corner, where it was darkest, he saw a bit of reflected light. Squinting and readjusting his glasses, he leaned a bit closer and a spider web was revealed to him. Stalking across its fine supports was a large spider, the arachnid coming towards a trapped fly. 'Just like me...' he realized, not wanted to watch any further. He was the fly and Voldemort was the spider, this insectual forshadowing was not something he needed to see.  
  
Resorting to counting bricks, Harry noticed a small buzzing around his head. How very irritating...   
  
While attempting to rid himself of the fly--  
  
CLANG  
  
--went the trashcan lid.  
  
And that seemed to be the end for our hero.  
  
He looked, terrified, in the direction of his nemesis, who seemed to be flying towards Harry on an unfelt wind. The fearful boy could not help but wonder if this was to further dramaticize the scene (which seemed ludicrous, no one was here to watch this event) or if it was a force of habit.  
  
The wizard forced himself to stand up, straight and tall, to face this evil. "So, Potter," the Dark Lord's unnaturally high-pitched pierced the younger one's head, "we meet for the final time."  
  
The intoned merely stared at Voldemort with utter hatred.  
  
"Now...how will you die? I know for a fact that you don't have your wand on you...pity, it would have been so interesting if you did. But I suppose..." You know Who grabbed Harry by the neck, lifting him off the ground. "I suppose that it would only be fitting for you to die in a method that those muggles you love so much use." The seemingly-scabbed claw tightened its grip on the Boy Who Lived's neck, gradually making harry turn a light shade of blue...then a dark azure...and, in finality, purple.  
  
Harry's mind gradually began to be filled with a near-death haze, and as it did, only one thing remained in perfect clarity: the spider's web. Instead of seeing the mangled form of a sucked-dry fly and a bloated spider, he instead saw the spider respinning its web...apparently the fly had gotten away.  
  
'Yay...' sang Harry's mind, not yet realizing the full impact of the issue. The fly, the victim, had flown away.  
  
And at that moment the boy's wings fell from the sky.  
  
From up above, eclipsing the moon with a feminine form, came a figure garbed fully in pink, with streamers of the same color flying behind her. After her came a young man, also floating down from the sky but in a more reserved manner, dressed in a glinting silver. The girl, seeming to tumble in a controlled freefall, landed behind the Dark Lord and thwapped him with a pink pillow, immediately knocking You Know Who out and allowing the Potter boy to breathe for the first time in several minutes. Her cohort (or at least her assumed one) landed beside her, and checked to make sure that her victim was thoroughly knocked out.  
  
Nodding to his companion, the boy was tossed what seemed to be a mud cookie--like from the dream, yes--from the pink-garbed one. He promptly blew into it (though nothing visibly happened), and then gestured to his partner.  
  
She smiled at Harry and grabbed his arm, talking to him amiably. None of her speakings reached his ears, however, as he didn't believe this was really happening.  
  
The silver one, noting that Voldemort was regaining consciousness, blew into the mud pastry again, a little more fevered than before. Apparently in response, something flew down from the heavens...something rather pink, which Cheshire gestured for his companion to get on. She dragged aboard Harry, who was about to protest (not that he wanted to be left with Voldemort, however), when the strange young man jumped on as well.  
  
Voldemort, now awake again, looked utterly confused as he lay on the dirty alley floor and watched the pink couch and its three passengers fly into the night. 


	4. Of why the Sea is Soaking Wet, and Wheth...

Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie  
  
To start off, I will say that flying on a broomstick is largely different than flying on a large, pink, and particularly hungry couch.  
  
For one thing, one has control over a broomstick (or atleast most of the time, you do), and it does not fly of its own accord, which is what the couch seemed to do. At one (very early) point in the journey, the couch completely changed course, now going southeast (by what Harry could calculate) instead of southwest. Of course, they may not have changed course at all, but when the pink piece of furniture had flipped over, making all of its contents (people, cushions, and all) spill over the edge, he had lost his bearings.  
  
And another thing...with a broomstick, things were aerodynamic, at least for the most part, allowing the wind to be shoved off to the side. No such luck on the couch. The wind was pushed in all directions, up, to the side, and downwards. If one were to lift one's head above what could be called a semi-gunwale, they would have to institute a large amount of self control in not bowing to the wind, also known as having their head's blown off.  
  
Apparently, the silver-garbed one enjoyed implicating this self-control, as he kept his head above the edge at all times.   
  
And the final advantage of having a broomstick over this couch: broomsticks did not attempt to eat you in any way, shape, or form.  
  
While flying over what Harry could only assume to be the English Channel, the cushion (of which there were three) which the boy-wizard was crouching on opened up in a slit, feathery-teeth gnashing in expectation of nourishment.  
  
As may well be expected, this throughly disturbed him.  
  
He leaped off the cushion and was swept into the air by the great speeds, tumbling downwards, and hoping that the water below was not too far below, else he would hit it as he would cement.  
  
Which would really hurt.  
  
Luckily, the male of the duo which had rescued him from his not-so-mortal enemy sent out some sort of retrieving spell to catch him. The unfortunate side to this endeavor, however, was the fact that his most recent savior thought it might teach him a lesson in couch-riding if he were to just rid along in back for a while--in the *way* back, meaning fifty feet away from the vessel which the other two were riding.  
  
Harry thanked the deities that be for the compassionate girl on the couch, who thought that the lesson should be taught verbally. Not that that was such a treat either...  
  
"Well, you know Harry," she stated gently, as if talking to a mentally incapicitated child, "jumping off a fairly rapidly flying couch is not the most intelligent thing to do. Think what could have happened if Che--"  
  
"Rose, we are not to use our real names around him until our superiors have made a decision. Don't use my name."  
  
'Rose' stared daggers at the boy, and then resumed her speech. "..if *Argent* here had not been able to save you...you might have fallen into that delightfully blue but awfully far down--er, what is it? Well, that awfully far down *lake* there. That wouldn't have done at all. We would have had to fish you out, and you would have been *all* wet, and then the couch would have gotten mildewy...well, no one wants that to happen. Don't worry about it happening again, though. I firmly told the couch not to try to eat you again...and it'll be fed right when we get to Ty--" A glare from 'Argent' silenced her. She smiled sweetly at him, and then let loose a swift and near the ground kick. "Our destination." She continued to smile sweetly while moving closer to her partner, and kept it on even while firmly lecturing him.  
  
The word Mookie was intoned more than once, from what Harry could hear. Something along the lines of 'Malnourished Couch' and 'The International Prevention of Sofa Mistreatment Association'...apparently it was Argent's job to feed the couch. Which only confused the Hogwarts-attendee more so.  
  
Gradually he dozed off, and woke up a minimum amount of times, considering his surroundings. At one point he woke up and saw the Eifel Tower, and surrounding lights, receding in the distance, and he had a dream (or was it real?) of waving wearily at the Vatican, but for the most part he slept soundly--that is, until the gasps of Rose awakened him.  
  
He looked up (careful to not raise his head above the pink lining, practice makes perfect, after all), and saw her looking over the edge. Seeing as how her hair was flapping only minorly in the (what was now) a gentle breeze, he looked over the gunwale as well.   
  
And what he saw he couldn't believe.  
  
It was absolutely beautiful, to say the least. The were much nearer the ground than previously, and he could make out individual facial features--but hey, who cares about facial features when one has a landscape such as this to describe?:  
  
It seemed as if the pink furniture was following some sort of walkway down below, which meandered lazily through beautiful rows of gardens. Although there were several which he could not name (and several which he seriously doubted their existances) he was able to pick out perimeter of roses, white and red intermittently, surrounding the entire garden, which he could see ending in a semi-circle shape some distance ahead. Next, waving in the wind, were little pink lilies, seeming to dance and greet the travelers. Further into the circle were lilacs, and even further were daffodils. In finality, and the center of the very middle of the edge of the semi-circle, were two blue banana trees, looking like stoic guardians of the garden.  
  
But the cobble-stoned path did not stop there. It forked to two sides at a beautiful, azure lake, which seemed too clear to be real, and outranked the Hogwarts Lake to such an extent that it seemed like a Muggle sanitary waste facility in comparison.  
  
When the path rejoined at the other edge of the lake (which, Harry noted with a bit of insomniac glee, rippled at even the disturbance in air that the couch created while flying over it), it lead to the crest of the hill, which the couch quickly overcame.  
  
The boy wizard was awestruck.  
  
On the hill (which was greener than the Dursley's lawn) there was a sunset-red mansion unlike any Harry had ever seen. Its three stories seemed to multiply as more of the grandeur was taken in...brightly lit windows, dozens of them, glinted in what remained of the bright moonlight. In the center were several large, red columns which supported atowering, impressive overhang, which, in the daylight, would probably shade even the outermost edges of the garden. From the limited view of the couch, Harry could not see how far the grand, castle-like structure extended...but if he had his entire fortune which resided at the carts in Gringotts on hand, he would have bet it all that this place was larger than Hogwarts itself.  
  
The Pink Couch landed, and the Argent escourted it the side of the mansion, where he could only assume the furniture stables were located. Rose opened one of the grand doors that were the ending point of the meandering path, and greeted the fatigued and amazed Harry with, "Welcome to Typos." 


	5. The Grand World of Typos

Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie  
  
If Harry had been impressed by the view from outside, then he was most certainly impressed by a much larger extent by the grandeur of the interior.  
  
As Rose opened the doors to the great structure, Harry was reluctant to move his gaze from even the portals, their magnificance so defined. Upon the massive blocks of wood were portraits of beautiful Queens, handsome Kings, shaking hands with ofreign dignitaries and seeming to bounce off walls. Enchanted, Harry realized that the portraits were shaking just a bit, and realized that they were trying to hold a pose just for him. Laughing slightly, Rose told the doorway, in a very plain voice, that, "He came on the couch."  
  
The boy-wizard blinked; had the door just blown a sigh of relief?  
  
But the portraits were moving now, their hands actually shaking their foreign counter-parts, literally bouncing from side to side of the door. Laughing at Harry's wonderment, Rose guided him into the castle. Under her breath, she murmured, "You'd think he'd be over these wizarding wonders by now..."  
  
Walking through the doors, Harry was quite surprised that he wasn't being blinded by the pure white marble which was laid in a chess board style across the main floor, its companion being same-sized blocks as dark as dark could be. They didn't even look black...more like empty. Seeing Harry's amazement, Harry's hostess of the moment laughed again, "Quite wonderful, aren't they? Just don't step on the dark ones...they were placed there by the founders, and no one knows what happens when you do touch them."  
  
Carefully avoiding the dark squares, Potter noticed a large, central staircase up ahead, made of the same glowing white substance. It took up the majority of that end of the hall, the base being really rather more widely distributedthan most things in the otherwise bare hall. Surrounding the stairway were several doors, which seemed to lead off in different directions.  
  
Walking up the staircase, where his pink-garbed host had led him, Harry noticed faint traces of something resembling a red carpet leading down the center of the staircase. Noting the direction of his gaze, Rose attained an informative tone of voice and started to explain, "Up until very few weeks ago, when the Queen Adella III was still ruling Typos, there was a red carpet that only the nobles of our kingdom could walk upon. Due to pressing issues involving keeping the peace amongst foreign countries and keeping our fair land a secret, she did not pay much attention to domestic matters. But, hen our new majesty, Queen Adella IV, was at her coronation, she stated that the first order she would make as Queen would be to 'rip up' the red carpet; the nobles of Typos needed no special treatment, she said, as their subjects who were not allowed to walk upon the Rouge Rug were just as important, if not more so, to the general Typosian welfare." Greatly impressed, Harry continued.  
  
Walking through several more hallways (several more interesting, though few more grand than the entrance hall), Harry was finally abandoned by his host.  
  
Not to say that Rose left him unattended, to say the least. She left him to be lavished in attention by several Typosian attendants, who fussed over him endlessly.  
  
First they led him to his quarters, which were extravagently arranged. A large, maroon blanket covered a four poster much like his own at Hogwarts, and the the walls were done in a deep gold...it seemed as if some sort of ambassador had visited his dorm at Hogwarts, save the fact that there weren't four other beds here. In fact, it even had--  
  
"My trunk!" Harry cried, ecstatic. "How--how did you get this?" he asked his nearest attendant.  
  
In return, the attendant replied very straightforwardly, "I believe, sir, that while Duke Cheshire and Lady Luna escorted you here, it was picked up by some other of our palace."  
  
Quickly processing this, Harry realized that someone must have gotten to the Dursley's after he was rescued from Voldemort...and gotten here before him. Looking through the contents of his trunk, Harry even saw his wand amongst the mussed items. 'But it was under the floor boards...only I knew it was there.'  
  
Harry Potter felt very stalked.  
  
After selecting his dress robes from the previous year to wear to the banquet the attendants kept talking about that was to occur tonight, Harry was escorted to the bathing room.  
  
The Prefect's Bathroom was nothing compared to this.  
  
The tiled floor of the room was made up of glowing squares, azure, sea-green, aqua, all the water colors were here, and each was glowing with its own light. It seemed as if they might be able to take the full moon's place in the sky--if, that is, the moon ever turned out to be blue.  
  
Walking along the dazzling array of blues and greens, Harry looked behind him, and saw that the places where his shoes had stepped were leaving behind momentary, phospherescent marks, looking to mark the trail where he had walked, then quickly disappeared. Perhaps the patterns were some sort of elite filing system...  
  
No matter, for that was when Harry found the first bathing apparatus--the one which he would now chose to use above all others. It had three knobs, one blood red, another sapphire blue, and the third as clear as pure mountain water. Seeing the vanishing attendants leaving his dress robes from the Yule Ball of the previous year in a wicker basket beyond the comprehension of those who have not seen it, Harry attempted to turn the first (crimson) knob. Abruptly, it began to glow its crystal color, and the bath nearby began to fill with steaming water. Touching the sapphire knob, it too began to glow, and neutralized the boiling water that preceded it. Upping the flow of the warm water a bit more, Harry touched the last knob. Once he came into contact with it, it began to glow with a great white light, which would most likely visually impair all those who looked at it directly. Hearing something different from behind him, he looked to see what was happening.  
  
Apparently, it was raining. Drops of liquid jewels were falling from no where, and landing on nothing as well. But in between, they were not too hot, nor too cold, and felt so wondrous dripping down Harry's bare hand that he quickly shed his filthy (trashcans and Stabsteins) garments and entered the beautiful spray.  
  
After experiencing the sudden downpour to the utmost extent(which was, of course, a misconception of Harry's own; Typos *never* runs out of surprises), including dancing about in twirls and such, as well as singing in a most off-key tune, Harry retreated once again to the multi-colored knobs and turned off the precipitating jewels. The bath (which had been surprisingly untouched by the water) now filled up again, and Harry prepared for a luxurious bout in the lavishing attention of his inanimate (or were they...?) bathroom.  
  
For awhile the visitor merely marveled at the wonderful likeness between this tub and the soothing qualities of a muggle jacuzzi (which were few, that's just how good the bath was) but soon wished for something better. Apparently reacting to the unspoken hope, the bath filled with delightful bubbles that popped near the top with a soothing sound and released many sweet scents, most of which the Hogwarts-attendee had never experienced before in his life.  
  
While lounging, a rather loud knock broke his reverie. Thinking it was Dudley in his pleasant stupor, he told the knocker (in a somewhat vulgar way) to 'bug off'. Walking in, Argent (who had been revealed as Duke Cheshire earlier) asked somewhat indignantly, "Mind repeating that, hm?"  
  
Jumping up, and realizing that he was entirely bare, Harry blushed and muttered a less-than appealing apology. Cheshire sighed, then turned around, apparently attempting to indulge his 'welcome' guest in his actions.  
  
After quickly dressing in his dress robes (which had been protected by the rain by the amazing wicker), Harry turned around to more formally apologize to the noble (he was a Duke, after all) and realized with a sudden flush that the Lady Lily, as the attendant called her, was talking amiably with the still silver-robed figure, hushed laughter written all over her face.  
  
"Ready then, are we?" she inquired sweetly, still holding in supressed mirth. "I suppose we should be on our way, then."  
  
Harry was led through a maze of halls, flanked on each side by his two saviors/escorts, who were inturn followed by a few body guards, several feet back. Finally raising the courage to address the male of his companions, Potter turned to Cheshire and said, "I'm very sorry for reacting so rudely to your knocking."  
  
The Duke turned to Harry as the latter had done to the former, and replied, "I suppose that it can be excused, considering that you are new to Typos." With a start, Harry found that 'Argent' was a boy of the same age as he was, perhaps a little younger. As was his hostess... One-third of the party horoughly startled, the small procession continued without a word.  
  
That is, until, they reached the hall, at which Harry gasped. It was made of white marble as the front hall had been; at least, what you could see was. But most was covered by grand furniture, and tapestries.  
  
There were five tables, total, scattered in an orderly fashion across the eating hall. It was arranged, the visitor realized, much like Hogwarts was. There were four, 'shabby' tables, only shabby due to the fact that their grandeur, when taken out of context would be paid for highly, was not comparable to the head (or staff) table, which will be compared later.  
  
The regular tables, as stated before, were majestic themselves. Carved from an unidentifiable wood, dozens of woodland animals were present in the woodwork, moving form leg to leg. Although they were able to move on to the table surface as well, it seemed as if they had been trained not to. This was a very smart idea, because so many carvings (which were not indented, but rather, exdented) moving around under rather delicate china and full platters would not be very economical--save, perhaps, for those who supplied the china, who would end up very rich indeed. Upon the platters were nearly all foods imaginable, but it seemed that more foods were appearing everywhere. Harry saw several people describing various dishes to their plates, in excruciating detail. Making a note to do so himself, Potter noticed that someone ended up with an elephant on their plate.  
  
The boy's awed gaze moved from the 'common' tables, as he had labeled them, to the larger and more elaborate one, which was most definitely a sight to behold. It was done in the same style, carving wise, though made of a different sort of wood. It seemed to resonate a sort of feeling, one which was only identifiable as peaceful, and soothing. The people at this head table were few, and far between. Noticing his gaze at the elaborately dressed, Lady Lily whispered to Harry their titles, pointing in accordance. Identified were the princes Justin and Andrei, princess Tyrle, and--  
  
"Is that the king?" he inquired, gesturing towards the handsome man near the middle of the table who continually winked suggestively at a particularly pretty attendant.   
  
"Oh dear, sir!" the lady laughed, her youthful, filling laugh. "Typos has no king, at least, not at the moment. That is the Royal Consort to our Majest Queen Adella Hale IV."  
  
Finding it quite unfitting that the courter (as Harry assumed the consort would be called in a country such as this) of the reigning monarch was making eyes at a servant, the boy was quite surprised when he heard a dinnerbell ring, and saw the attendant take off her serving outfit, revealing--  
  
"She's the queen!" he gasped.  
  
Lily laughed once again. "Oh Mr. Potter, you have so much to learn! Here in Typos, we are a most fair country, and our monarch firmly believes in that. There are two shifts in lunch, one where some servants and some nobles are fed, and one where the rest of the population of the castle is fed. Though it is not required of anyone to volunteer for attendant-duty at our bi-daily banquets, most do." Being quite amazed, the Boy Who Lived was ushered over to the top table, quite astounded to find his place next to the Queen, who was anxiously blowing kisses to the apron-donned consort.  
  
Unsure of what to do, Harry stood there, looking rather awkward, and regarding his former informer with anxiety. Unfortunately, she had began a rather heated argument with a stag--one which seemed to be petty, in the least.  
  
"Why Harry, don't just stand there, join in the feast!" called a voice to his right, pulling his sleeve, and the body within it, down to a finely finished chair.  
  
It was the monarch.  
  
"Er--um, my majesty," he floundered crudely, bowing down and making his forehead tap the floor.  
  
"Don't be silly. You aren't serious, are you? This is dinner! The dinner bell rang, and so this is quite an informal event." She regarded him with worried eyes, "Please don't tell me that in England they make you bow down at dinner." Apparently all foreign visitors' customs were followed here, no matter what the cost.  
  
"Well, er, no, my," Harry paused, "queen, I suppose. I just thought--"  
  
"That we were a kingdom bent on living as if it were the middle ages, and all that mattered was honor? You really do make me laugh, sir, oh truly..." A dainty laugh followed.  
  
Harry grinned back, then stared down at his empty plate, frowning a bit when he realized that the platters were down on the 'common' tables, even though people were talking to their plates all over the tapestried hall. More than a bit artlessly, "Er--some meat would be nice." came from Harry's lips, whispering almost inaudibly. A large bout of mice appeared, of various colors, and Harry jumped a bit, hoping against hope that they wouldn't startle his foreign hosts. Unexpectedly, they all stayed within one inch of the border of his plate, supposedly a bit of useful enchantment for unaccustomed visitors.   
  
Giggling slightly, Adella turned to Harry again. "You have to speak up a little, dear." To the plate she said very loudly, "Clear.", and back to Harry she turned again. "You see, the plates are a bit old, and we have not yet found the time to refurbish them to up their receiving capabilities. Just talk a bit loudly, and everything should be fine." Before returning to her food, she said, "Oh, and be a bit more specific. The first time I asked for meat on one of these things, it gave me a cow. The crafters apparently were a bit fond of raw meat...or not even dead yet. Vegetables may be a good alternative until you are able to get the hang of it..." She then sank her teeth into a juicy hamburger, which Harry found rather distasteful, after seeing the live game on his platter moments earlier.  
  
"Fish sauce," he began, "and some salmon." Yes, that should work--which it did, as there were no live animals at his plate now. He then clearly intoned to his goblet, "Pumpkin juice." The Hogwarts drink was a bit addicting, and very tempting when being back in the wizarding world.  
  
After a hearty meal of several bits of different types of vegetables, poultry, and fish, Harry noticed that the dinnerbell rang again, leaving the plate clear again. "Glad you figured it out," Lily told him, smiling dazzlingly, and only looking a bit ruffled after the argument with the carved stag. She then turned her attention to the tapestry over the doorway, what seemed to be a flag. It had three main colors, blue ("For the Valor of Our People," informed 'Rose'), green ("Natural Beauty of the Land,"), and yellow ("A Bright and Shining Future,"), as well as nine different stars. In Unision, the entire hall rose its arms, as if they were imitating ducks. Wondering if this was some sort of joke, Harry watched in amazement as they all recited a long, and indecipherable anthem. After being elbowed by Cheshire (who had somehow made his way to the hind of Harry), the young Potter rose his arms as well, and soon after the ceremony ended.  
  
The hall began to empty after this, and Harry was left stranded at the table, seeing that both the Lady and the Duke who had escorted him there were leaving and chatting together, and he saw no other familiar faces; except...  
  
"Well hello again, Harry," greeted the Queen, grinning. "You didn't think we had all left you here, did you? We Typosians treat each other, and outsiders, in a much more civil way than that. I don't believe you have met my Royal Consort, Lord Aemundis..."  
  
"Hallo, matey!" greeted the consort, slapping him on the back, as if they had been friends for a long while.  
  
"Now Harry, we would like to talk to you about certain things...things that concern both yours, and my country's, futures. If you wouldn't mind walking with me to these private rooms over here..." Locking elbows with the visiting foreigner, the Queen of Typos walked gracefully to the door off to the side of the hall.   
  
"Hey, don't leave me behind!" demanded the consort, laughingly, catching up to the pair, and hooking arms with Harry as well. Whispering, Aemundis said to Harry's ear, "Hope you don't get too bored while we're in there, we, my friend, are in for a long talk!" They entered the room.  
  
^^  
  
Well, that's the end of the fifth chapter, I hope you like it...  
  
...you *better* like it...  
  
...it took me forever!  
  
Anyway, any type of review would be appreciated, and for the disclaimer: heck no, I don't ow'!   
  
(The apostrophe is for an 'n', by the way...)  
  
--Phenomonous 


	6. A Meeting of Friends, of Enemies (Who Ca...

Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie  
  
Awestruck, Harry Potter paid no attention to the decorations around his room. He merely made his way to the cover, in a zombie like state, and tucked himself in, though he did not even half expect sleep to come.  
  
He was just too shocked.  
  
The meeting with the queen and her consort had gone well enough, at first. They sat down, each in a comfortable Muggle armchair, of which Harry had the utmost respect for. Gently elbowing him, Aemundis grinned, "Great, eh? Who knew the muggles could do so well by one thing..." Not to say that these hadn't been affected by the magic that was Typos, for the Boy who Lived sincerely doubted that you could find chairs that did what these chairs did any where else in the entire world; mainly meaning that they made you feel incredibly content--quite a feat, for an inanimate object.  
  
After reintroducing themselves during a semi-awkward silence, a servant came in with some tea. But was that...Cheshire? Oh, indeed it was. It seemed, to Harry, that escorting him to the dinner was not enough to get out of predetermined duties...or perhaps he was just doing this because he felt he should. From the young man's stony expression, it was nigh-impossible to tell.  
  
After sipping lightly at the tea (of which Harry could find no constant flavor--it seemed to change every which way from second to second, never deciding on what to taste like), the Queen set hers down on the polished table in the center of the trio of chairs. The consort followed, and Harry, not wishing to be rude or seem unrefined, placed his down as well, though it was only half empty. Eyeing him strangely, Lord Threp picked up his cup again, and sipped from what Harry had previously believed to be an empty cup. Adella did this as well, and the stranger to the country noticed steam flowing forth from the fine china.  
  
The young Potter's cup regained its rightful place as well--though it was the same temperature as when he had put it down, and no extra tea had been placed in it by the lacquered furniture. Sipping a bit more, he placed it on the table again, then waited for a full minute, to find that the only way in which it had changed was in heat--it had gotten colder. Thoroughly disgruntled (and feeling more than a bit teased), he stared meaningfully as the Queen replaced the teacup on the table, and placed her hands royally in her lap.  
  
The consort did this as well.  
  
So the three sat there, and Aemundis pondered redoing the introductions yet again during the silence while the Queen held sat there, watching the guest, the latter becoming madder by the minute. 'Why aren't they saying anything?' he had thought. 'What's wrong with my teacup, why won't it refill itself?' Sitting there, eyeing his host and hostess, he became increasingly aware of an uncomfortable itch on his leg. 'This isn't going to turn out well, I can tell,' thought the visitor, noting that when his itches were not scratched, the attatched body part tended to twitch, and since he was not sure about the Royal Protocol's rules on itching, he left it unattended.   
  
Twitch it did.  
  
His leg, when going unscratched, would normally just jerk a bit, making him seem like some sort of spazmatic person who could only control his irregular gesticulating most of the time, though sometimes it slipped through the protective walls. But this twitch did no such thing...it twitched in such a large comparison to normality, that it was not even in the same ratio as a lion's roar to a kitten's mew. However, when describing the twitch, it can be gone about in such a fashion as:  
  
It hit the table. While normally, as said above, the twitches were minor...and at times scarcely noticable, this twitch thwapped the table with a resounding thwack, the table that was a good two feet away. It knocked the glass that Harry had been using on its side, immediately emptying the china of its contents. Harry, looking more than rather sheepish, replaced the cup to its upright position and looked around desperately for some sort of rag.  
  
The consort and queen looked at eachother painfully, then both burst out laughing, collapsing into each other's arms. "O...Harry..." sputtered Adella. "You...are...too...funny!" At this she collapsed into a fit of giggles, and lost what royal composure she had left.  
  
A red faced Aemundis joined in the praise, "Jolly good...joke Matey!" he managed. "You--(insane giggle)--you should do that professionally! Never knew it was coming...Hah!" He then collapsed into the queen's shoulder, twittering and blasting enough to qualify him for the asylum back near the Dursley's.  
  
However, the Harry who was looking back on this memory failed to find the humor in this situation...he sat awed in the corner, awaiting with dread what was to come next in the mental playback.  
  
Memory-Harry just looked even more sheepish at their assumption that he had done such a thing to get laughs, that he had done it on purpose. Still looking about the room for a rag, he noticed Aemundis bring out his wand, and mutter a cleaning spell into the reigning monarch of Typos's shoulder. The tea spilled tea was instantly cleaned up, and both of the foreign officials regained what composure they had left. "Er--Harry, before we begin," giggled Queen Adella, "It is customary in Typos that we drink two cups of tea..."  
  
"Oh, yes, of course," he apologized, blushing. "But you see, I can't get my cup to fill--" Harry looked down at his steamingly full cup, "--up." He quickly drank it before they had a chance to collide again in anything-but-sane laughter.  
  
"Well, down to business, I suppose," intoned the consort. "I'd imagine that you have many questions...that you wouldn't mind having answers, besides." At this point he sighed. "Always wanting answers..." He then brightened up a bit, and asked, "But if you don't have any questions, I'm sure we can all just head off to bed..." At a look from the queen, he intoned in a very melancholy voice, "What are your questions?"  
  
Harry, laughing silently at the antics of the two in front of him, asked the first question--well, rather the second question, for the first was a bit personal, he supposed, "What *is* this place?"  
  
Sighing, Aemundis Threp stood up, and told Harry in a mock-mad voice, "You just had to ask that, didn't you?" Resignedly, he began to recite something in a very monotonous voice, "The Country of Typos..."  
  
Harry immediately regretted asking the question. It seemed as if the consort had memorized all but the index--wait, there it was--of a Typosian school-goer's history book. It took all of at least two of the most boring hours that Harry was ever to experience for Sir Threp to finish--thank all that's good for revised versions.   
  
However, throughout the entire endeavor, the Queen smiled gently and continued to spur Aemundis on, especially when he looked down at her, still reciting, pleas for mercy written countless times across his face. When he had finally finished, and plopped down on the chair next to her, she looked at him lovingly. "You realize, good sir, that you need a bit more emphasis on the revolt of Ooze, correct? Other than that, a fine performance." She patted him gently on the knee. "Would you like to take the next question as well?"  
  
Aemundis's wide, disbelieving eyes were answer enough, but--  
  
"Oh, you *would*? How lovely!"  
  
He opened his mouth to respond, and Della gestured to Harry. "Go on, dear. I'm sure you have many more questions." The sides of her mouth were twitching gently, she was obviously suppressing a broad smile.  
  
Frantically searching for some sort of believable excuse to save him from that horror, he quickly stated, "Oh, that answered it all for me. I especially loved the explanation of the need for a Minister of Odd Jobs...really wrapped up a lot, that's really what I needed to hear." He desperately hoped that that was enough to get out of more of that verbal torture.  
  
The Queen looked disappointed. "You're sure? You have no other questions? Not one?"  
  
Looking at her hopeful and abashed face, he murmured, "Well..." But then the breathless Aemdundis caught his eye, shaking his head wildly, and Harry ended abruptly, "No, no other questions."  
  
"Well, then, I suppose we will have to start with questioning you!" She smiled, gleefully. "We'll start with a test of what the Royal Consort just said, and then--"  
  
"Test?" Harry echoed weakly. He had begun to count the number of threads in the carpet by the time Lord Threp had reached the acquiring of Pillowstonia... "You--you aren't serious, are you?"  
  
"O' course she isn't!" answered the now-breathing Aemundis. He then glanced fearfully at Queen Adella, "Are you?"  
  
"No, love, I'm not serious," she said. Turning to the guest, "But we do have some questions for you, Harry."  
  
He nodded, prepared.  
  
"We know you had an experience with a certain individual yesterday...and we were wondering if you could tell us what happened, what he said, did...if he left anything behind."  
  
Harry blinked. Had it only been a day ago? "Well...he came to my window, and said something about mookies...something about them being ludicrous, or not. Then he asked me if I knew about mookies...About then my Uncle Vernon came raging through the house, and he vanished. He gave me--or rather placed in a convenient place for me to find--a business card, I guess." He fumbled around in his pockets, then realized he had placed it with the slime ridden garments. "Er--it's not on me at the moment. I remember it a bit, though...Summat about being a Stabstein, an Anti Mooke Person...And it had a stain on it. A mud stain, to be in fact."  
  
The Royal Consort and Queen looked from one to the other, and the former muttered, "So the rumors were true...they *did* infiltrate the mud quarries of Pillowstonia..."  
  
And the latter picked up where he left off, "Not to mention the fact that they got to *him* before we did."  
  
Harry looked from one to the other, a bit disturbed. "Don't tell me he was serious?"  
  
Looking incredibly relieved, Queen Adella IV blew a sigh of relief. "Well...if he left behind the 'business card' we think he did, then yes, in all things except one. We, Harry, are your friends in the Mookie ordeal...not the slimy Stabsteins."  
  
The Boy who Lived looked incredibly relieved at this. "Oh, that's great! You have no idea how much I would have been chewed out by Aunt Petunia if I had been around when she found the snail-trail left behind by that guy...Convicted GodFather or no, I would've been dead."  
  
A bit puzzled by the last statement made, but smiling none the less, the Queen continued. "Now, we have one last bit of business to discuss, before we can all head off to bed."  
  
Harry nodded, suppressing a yawn...  
  
"We assume that you are wondering if you will have to go back to the Dursley's...and when you are going to Hogwarts."  
  
Another nod.  
  
"Well, we have decided (and I'm sure you'll be ecstatic to learn) that going back to the Dursley's may bring peril on you, and so it would not be very wise to send you back for the remainder of the summer. However...on this topic you will be much more solemn, I'm sure...we have also decided against the sending you back to Hogwarts."  
  
Harry was stunned.  
  
He hadn't even answered this statement. He looked dully at Adella, then at Aemundis, thanked them monotonously for the tea, and deftly found his way back to the quarters where he had been led earlier...  
  
...where he would probably be staying for the rest of his life.  
  
There wasn't much of a way that he could fight this. During the recitation, he had learned that Typos had quite a grand army, one which was unsurpassed in the magical kingdom. And then Pemberley (which was where he was currently situated) was in the center of Typos...and even if he were able to fly away on his FireBolt, he had all of Europe to fly over.  
  
And so it was hopeless...  
  
Hedwig didn't know where he was, so she couldn't deliver any mail...the only post here in Typos was done through something similar to the pony express of America, save it was done on magic carpets...and he knew that he wouldn't be permitted to use that.  
  
And as those scenes replayed through his mind, he couldn't help but feel full of despair. He could find no way out, no loophole.  
  
Before he left, Aemundis had ran after him, and told him that there was to be a meeting with all nobles of Typos present, as well as Harry, and something might happen there. But the last comments of the Royal Consort had fallen on deaf ears.  
  
Harry had resisted crying, for that truly showed despair, he thought...he resisted it with all his being. But he didn't want to be here any more, its novelty had worn off, there was nothing else he would rather do than see Ron or Hermione...he felt as empty as a Dementor made him feel.  
  
And, to top it all off, there was Stabstein again.  
  
^^  
And yet another chapter...  
  
I'd really appreciate reviews, as anyone would...Heck, even a flame would be nice :D  
  
I've been trying to get out a chapter every week since the initial start and I'll continue trying until this fic is finished...just a note.  
  
Thanks to Lilah for helpin' me, and Aem for encouraging me...and of course Rubes well. Hope you liked it.  
  
--Phenomonous 


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